


Goodnight

by Willow_Angel



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Anger, Angst, Death, Drinking, Embrace, Grief, Grieving, Hate, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Memories, Missing someone, Mourning, Sadness, Thinking too much, Trying to Forget, possible trigger warning, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_Angel/pseuds/Willow_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Possible trigger warning: drinking.)</p><p>"Why was he thinking? Why tonight? He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything, if he couldn’t have his Castiel back."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: DRINKING  
> ALSO, Supernatural SEASON 7 SPOILERS (A LOT OF SPOILERS)
> 
> Here I am with some Destiel! And this is not a happy fic, be warned.  
> "Where all my fluff at?" I ask myself as I'm stuck in season 7 of Supernatural and I can't get myself out because CASTIEL MY POOR ANGEL LET ME GIVE YOU A HUG-
> 
> So this popped into my head at 11:15 at night right after watching Cas get KILLED (don't worry, he ends up okay-ish I think I'm not that far ahead yet). And seeing as I ship Destiel with my life, here it is.
> 
> Thanks to my buddy Leah (@JustJinxIt on Wattpad) for the title :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy~ :)

As Dean downed yet another glass of whiskey, he knew he was thinking too much – but he couldn’t help it. After everything that had happened, he felt like he couldn’t help anything, or any _one_ , anymore.

He set down the glass on the table and stared into it, trying not to think about anything except the liquor burning his throat. He almost laughed at that – he drank all the time, he should be used to it by now. He guessed it was just a bad day.

No, he _knew_ it was a bad day. For a lot of reasons.

Staring into the glass, he noticed that there were a few drops of drink still on the bottom of the glass. He also noticed the colour, and the way that in this specific light, it was the exact same colour as-

No. _No._ He was _not thinking about this now._

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning. But it didn’t help, and neither did the alcohol. Tonight it seemed that the world was especially against him because the more he tried not to think, the more he thought – the more shit that he tried not to remember, the worse the shit he remembered. And it was painful, more painful than any wound he had sustained over the years.

Mainly because he couldn’t get his mind off of that _frigging angel_.

His _best friend._

_Castiel._

Even the name made his chest hurt, and he poured himself another drink. Why was he thinking? Why tonight? He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything, if he couldn’t have his Castiel back. He wanted to forget all the happy memories or fighting with him and having fun with him, all the memories that made him _feel_. He wanted only the memories of Castiel as the bad guy, the ones that would give Dean a reason to kill him, if he couldn’t have his Castiel back as the good guy, as his friend, as his family.

He _did_ chuckle at that, because he knew that he would never be able to kill his Cas. Never.

He stopped, the glass halfway to his lips, confused at his own thoughts.

When had he started thinking of the angel as “his Cas”?

He had noticed himself regarding Castiel with… what was the term? Possessive Pride? Cas had almost always come immediately whenever Dean had needed him, even after the year he’d been retired and with Lisa and Ben after Sam’s descent into hell. He’d ignored Sam’s calls and prayers for a _whole year_ , but the one time that Dean had prayed for him, he had come immediately.

Heck, Cas had abandoned a “civil war in Heaven” time and time again to help.

Dean screwed his eyes shut and slammed the glass down on the table, the drink sloshing around inside it.

God, that angel was a _dick_. He’d lied, betrayed them and worked with Crowley, the _King of Hell_ , behind all of their backs. Castiel’s friends. And now he wasn’t even around for Bobby’s funeral, because the asshole had gone and gotten himself killed.

Somehow, Dean was surprised when he felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and he realised that he was crying.

He wasn’t angry tonight. No, because all of the things that made Dean want to kill that son of a bitch with his bare hands, he was crying because he missed Cas, and he missed him like crazy.

He remembered when Cas was finally about to send those souls back to Purgatory, and how he’d turned around, looked right in his eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Dean.” His voice had sounded void of hope, of the normal energy and strength that it usually had, and how he could barely stand when he turned back around.

He remembered in vivid detail how Castiel had crumbled afterwards, and how Dean had panicked, running to his side, praying that he was alive. How his hope had crumbled like the man when he saw that Cas wasn’t breathing, and didn’t have a pulse. He’d almost started crying then.

But then the angel had opened his eyes and breathed, and Dean’s heart soared, only to be brought back down again less than sixty seconds later when the Leviathan took over, and how it told him, laughing, that Castiel was dead.

The last bit of whatever hope he was clinging onto had been torn away at that moment, because his Cas had been taken from him again.

He also remembered seeing his trench coat washed up on the shore of the lake afterwards, and how he’d picked it up, empty of all but grief.

He’d wanted to collapse right then, and hold that coat close to him, and never let it go, because he’d lost another member of  his family, and he couldn’t handle it this time.

Somehow, having Castiel around had always calmed him down, no matter what he was feeling, and he didn’t know why – the angel just had that effect on him. Goddamn, the angel was annoying, and didn’t get half the references he’d made, and didn’t know how to behave like a normal human, but it was hilarious. He’d had so much fun, but now that was over for good.

Because Cas, _his Cas_ , was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it this time.

And he realised that he’d been starting to fall for Cas when he’d gone out and started having sex with random women again to get his mind off of him.

And god _damn_ , had he been falling for Cas quickly.

He stood up too quickly, knocking over his chair, and his hand shot out, flinging the glass across the room where it shattered against the wall with a loud _smash!_ He knew he’d probably woken Sam up, but he didn’t care right now. He couldn’t hold back the tears this time, as he gripped at his hair and started pacing around the room.

He wanted to stop feeling.

He wanted to stop remembering.

He wanted to stop thinking.

He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget _everything_. The memories, the fights, his love for Castiel. He didn’t want any of it.

Sure enough, Sam came running into the room, his eyes wide and a gun in his hands. Dean just stopped and looked at his brother, his hands dropping to his sides and the tears endlessly streaming down his cheeks. He looked down, but was too drained to feel embarrassed.

He heard the thud of Sam dropping the gun and running over to him, and then he was wrapped in his arms. Surprisingly, he needed this. He usually hated these chick flick moments, but for some reason he liked Sam’s arms around him, and the comfort they provided. He just stood there, with no energy to move, only cry as he choked back a sob.

But as much as he liked the warmth of Sam’s arms, it felt wrong. These weren’t the arms he wanted. This wasn’t the person he wanted comforting him, and he had a feeling that Sam knew that.

He wanted Cas. He _needed_ Cas, _his_ Cas _._ Even though he knew that the angel wouldn’t know how to react to a crying Dean, he needed to hear him say that everything was going to be okay, that he was strong enough to get through this. He wanted to feel Cas’ awkward hand on his shoulder, trying to find the right comforting words, because he’d probably never seen this before.

Dean was supposed to be the one that kept his feeling bottled up, the unemotional one, the stronger one that didn’t seem to care about anything at all. But all he needed right now was Cas in front of him so that he could tell him everything. He wanted to touch Cas again, to hold him, to kiss him even just once, even if Cas didn’t know what it meant, even if it didn’t lead anywhere.

He’d never had feelings this strong before in his life. And it was terrifying, and awful, now that he knew it was completely useless.

So he just stayed there in Sam’s arms for a while until he was out of tears. He was so, _so_ tired, but he knew that he felt Sam slowly led him towards where he’d put his sleeping bag. He felt Sam slowly lay him down and silently walk away.

Dean lay there as sleep slowly pulled him under. And he swore that he could feel arms around him again, but this embrace was different. It was warm, so warm, and it was gentle, almost as if the person was afraid of hurting Dean. Dean felt himself leaning into them even though he knew that they weren’t real, but he was too tired to think rationally.

He could almost feel the cool fabric of a trench coat beneath his fingertips, and he heard Castiel’s voice bouncing around his head, saying things like, “It’s okay, Dean. I’m here, Dean. I’m with you, Dean. I’ll protect you, Dean, I promise.”

He felt himself nodding, and the last thing he felt were those arms around him, and that beautiful voice whispering in his ear, “I love you, Dean.”

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered into thin air.

And then he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated ^~^  
> Please, I really want to know what you think of this one, so please leave a comment. Pretty please?


End file.
